by Renee George
“What?” I heard Smooshie barking in the background. “Sorry,” he said, “I was fixing to take her outside. Hold on.” I heard him say, “Calm down, girl. We’ll go in a minute.” He got back on the phone. “Now say that again. Opal is missing?”
“Yes. Pearl’s on her way to the sheriff’s station to wait. Bobby Morris has called in off-duty deputies, and they’ve put almost every patrol vehicle out on the streets searching for Opal.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the Sunset Apartments. Opal was kidnapped across the street from here.” I told him everything I knew up to that point, with the exception of the journal. I didn’t want any of the uniforms to overhear that part.
“Do you want me to come down there? Dad and I can help with the search.” That’s right, Greer had spent the evening with his son.
“Does Greer know a Bob Tolliver?” I asked.
“Dad,” he said off the phone. “Do you know Bob Tolliver?”
“Sure. He’s a customer. I’ve known him for years,” I heard Greer answer.
“Good,” I told Parker. “Can you guys find Bob Tolliver and see if he’ll go down to the police station and stay with Pearl until this is over?”
“If it will help,” Parker said.
“It will.”
“Stay safe, Lily.”
I melted a little. “I love you, too, Parker.”
We hung up, and I went outside, crossed the parking lot and street, until I was with Reggie and the crime techs at the place where Opal’s sedan had been sitting. “Find anything?”
Reggie shook her head. “Nothing that will point us in the right direction.”
I gave her a gentle nudge with my shoulder. “I might have something.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Get Nadine and tell her we'll be on the second floor if she needs us. Lacy’s apartment is close and mostly private.”
“You sure Lacy’s going to be okay with us turning her place into kidnap central?”
I nodded, remembering what she’d said about Opal helping her mom. “I think she’ll want to help any way she can.”
It felt good to have a plan, even if I wasn’t sure where it would land us. What had gotten Abby murdered? Work or personal? Was the killer also Opal's kidnapper? If so, what did the killer think Opal knew about the murder?
I hoped these and more questions would be answered when we deciphered Abby’s most private musings.
Chapter 16
Lacy’s apartment was a mirrored layout to Abby’s. Living room and kitchen on one said, bathroom, utility room, and bedroom on the other. But where Abby had made a book nook, Lacy had set up a toddler bed for her son, Paulie. I was glad she was finally gaining traction again with the nursing home job and school on the horizon. This one-bedroom apartment wasn’t going to be big enough once Paulie started school.
“Christ,” Lacy hissed. “When you didn’t show, I just thought you’d flaked on me. I can’t believe Opal’s been kidnapped. Do you think the police will find her?”
“Yes. Unquestionably,” I said, because the alternative was too awful to entertain. “Do you mind if Reggie and I do a little brainstorming up here?”
“No,” Lacy said. She ran her fingers through her hair in a self-conscious gesture, and she was in pajamas. “I changed for bed when I thought you weren’t coming.”
“You’re fine,” I told her. “I should have called you.”
Nadine arrived with Reggie. The scene had been secured and other deputies were taking statements from neighbors, so she decided her time was best spent focusing on the diary with us. While we had booze, no one drank any. Instead, Lacy put on a pot of coffee, and we all caffeinated hard. I carefully tore out the most recent pages of the journal and handed them out. I didn’t like damaging the book like that, but it was the fastest way to get the most information. Opal needed us to work with a sense of urgency.
“Remember,” I said, trying to keep my promise to Pearl, “if it’s not pertinent to Opal kidnapping or Abby’s death, we didn’t see it.”
“Got it,” Lacy said with all seriousness. “I’ll never breathe a word.”
“Thanks.” I had been mostly talking to her, because she was the wild card in the group, so her assurance eased my worry.
“Abby mentions missing narcotics including oxycodone, fentanyl patches, and something called benzodie…benzodeeah. Crap. I can’t pronounce it,” Nadine said.
“Benzodiazepines,” Reggie helped.
“It’s a group of medications like Ativan and Xanax used for anxiety, acute depression, and sometimes sedation,” Lacy said. “I learned about it in my CMT course. We have a supply of prefilled syringes of Lorazepam, the generic of Ativan, in the med room just in case any of the residents get violent.” She frowned.
“And it’s not recommended for elderly patients,” Reggie said. “It can make them unsteady and confused. It’s akin to chemically restraining them. Something I’m not crazy about. Besides, it’s habit forming, and the side effects when you try to take someone off the drug is much the same as alcohol withdrawal. Not good.”
“We have a lot of residents on the pill form,” Lacy said. “They can get a bit loopy when they take the drug.”
“Okay, so we got missing happy pills and painkillers,” Nadine interjected. “Anyone else find anything?”
“What was it you were saying about the book she was reading?” Reggie asked. “She mentions a Kenneth Barlow on this page.”
“That’s it! That’s the name of the murderer.” I grabbed my phone. “I’ll look him up.”
“Oh,” Lacy said. “Oh-oh.”
“What?” the rest of us said in unison.
“This one is about having sex with her ex-husband in an on-call room at the hospital.”
“How Grey’s Anatomy,” Nadine said.
Lacy blanched. “She gets pretty detailed.”
“She was having sex with Dale Rogers. If they were, uhm, reconnecting again, why wouldn’t Dale have just said that to Bobby this morning? Either way, I think it’s safe to say that page isn’t going to help us.” I tore out the next entry and handed it to Lacy.
While they kept deciphering the coded entries, I typed “Kenneth Barlow killer” into my phone, just in case there were lots of Kenneth Barlows. The results that loaded made me sick to my stomach. “Insulin,” I said.
“Insulin?” Reggie asked. “What about it?”
“Kenneth Barlow, a male nurse, killed his wife with insulin in 1957. It was the first reported case of insulin murder. He’d put her in the bathtub and tried to make it look like a drowning, but the pathologist noted that her eyes were dilated, which isn’t consistent with drowning. There was other stuff, too, like the fact that if he’d tried to resuscitate his wife like he’d said, his clothes would have been wet and such, but there were no signs of violence on her body, and if he hadn’t tried to cook up such an elaborate story, he probably wouldn’t have been caught.”
Reggie nodded. “Insulin metabolizes quickly, even after someone dies. Unless you can find the injection site, which is really difficult if you don’t know to look for it, there is no way to tell if someone has been overdosed with the stuff.” She shook her head. “Abby’s eyes were dilated, but opioids can cause the same reaction. Do you think? Could it be possible that someone injected her with a big dose of insulin?”
“Wouldn’t her blood sugar have been really low?” Nadine asked.
“Not necessarily,” Reggie said. “Cellular death modifies glucose levels. It might be a bit higher in a diabetic, but even a low glucose wouldn’t have made me suspicious.”
“Is there any way to prove she was injected?” I asked.
“If I can find the site, which is like trying to find a needle in a haystack full of needles, there should still be some residue of the drug in the skin,” she said. She stood up. “You guys keep going. I’m going to have one of the tech guys drive me to the morgue. Call me if you find something else.”
R
eggie grabbed her purse and left the wine chiller as she headed out.
“I think she figured out who was taking the drugs,” Nadine said. “She says here, The administrator wants me to keep my suspicions to myself about the missing schedule 2 narcotics. She says she is investigating, but I think she’d be happy to sweep it under the rug. There is an asterisk below it with a new paragraph that says, I plan to confront her today. I think she tampered with Mrs. Davidson in some way. There is no way her glucose sailed up to 586 from a cupcake. I found a book she was reading, and it disturbed me. I took it when she wasn’t looking. I called in an anonymous tip to state. I will get to the bottom of this. I just don’t understand why she’d want to hurt an elderly woman? That’s where it ends,” Nadine said.
“What’s the date on that one?”
“It was Friday.”
“The day she died,” Lacy gasped.
“Who did she say she was going to confront?” I asked.
“She doesn’t give a name,” Nadine replied. “It sounds like she might be talking about the administrator though.”
“Ruby Davis?” Lacy asked. “Ruby is rarely on the floor, and she’s intimidating. I’m not sure she could get into a med room and steal pills without someone taking notice.”
“Why would someone want to tamper with Jane Davidson? If Abby was injected with a lethal dose of insulin, I wonder if the same person tried it with Jane as well?”
“That’s terrible,” Lacy said. “Why?”
“Maybe Jane knew something she shouldn’t,” Nadine said. “People have been killed for less.”
“Do you know who took Mrs. Davidson out to the courtyard?” I asked Lacy.
“No one claimed responsibility.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I’m pretty sure whoever wheeled her out there tried to kill her the same way they’d killed Abby.” I stood up. “We’re going to the hospital,” I said to Nadine. “Mrs. Davidson could still be in danger. And if she’s alert, maybe she can tell us who we’re looking for.”
Opal’s life depended on it.
The hospital visiting hours were over, but the staff didn’t do much but nod when Nadine and I walked into the step-down unit, a place where they kept patients who still needed some monitoring but weren’t critical. The evening nurse on duty told us Mrs. Davidson was in the third room down the hall.
“You think she’ll know anything?” Nadine asked.
“I hope so.” It had been almost two hours since Opal’s disappearance, and my stomach burned with worry. “I really thought the police would have found her by now. How hard is it to find one car?”
“You mean a dark-blue car at night in a town with dozens of streets? And that’s assuming the car hasn’t been driven out of Moonrise to a more remote area.”
“I get it,” I said. “I know it’s not your fault she’s still missing. I just want to get her back before…” I couldn’t finish.
“I know,” Nadine said gently. “I want to find her just as much as you do. I promise.”
Jane Davidson snored softly in her large hospital bed. She was hooked up to a heart monitor, and there were a few empty bags hanging from an IV pole, but nothing actually attached to her. Her television was off and the lights were dim, but it was time to wake up.
“Mrs. Davidson,” I said. “It’s Lily. You remember, from the manor. Opal’s friend.” My voice caught on Opal’s name.
Mrs. Davidson didn’t stir.
I rubbed my knuckle against her sternum, hoping the pain would wake her up. She moaned and blinked her eyes open. “Hello,” I said. “Can you speak?”
“Wa-ter,” she rasped.
"What are you doing in here?" a man asked. It was Dr. Stewart Smith, Abby's ex-lover.
"I could ask you the same thing," I said.
Nadine, dressed in civilian clothes, pulled out her badge. "Yeah, Doc. What are you doing here?"
"I'm Mrs. Davidson's doctor," he blustered. "I'm supposed to be in her room, unlike the two of you. What is this about?"
"It's about murder," I said bluntly.
His eyes widened with genuine shock. "Murder?"
Nadine crossed her arms over her chest. "Abby Rogers. And there is the attempted murder of Jane Davidson."
Mrs. Davidson, who'd been quietly watching, made at choking nose.
I frowned at Nadine.
"Sorry, Mrs. Davidson. Tact is not my strong suit."
"And neither is intelligence," Dr. Smith said. "You can't honestly believe I had anything to do with Abby killing herself or Mrs. Davidson's brittle diabetes. I'm not a magician."
His arrogance pissed me off. "No, but you are the married doctor who was having an affair with Abby, and she wanted to check into Mrs. Davidson's lab work, and you seemed opposed to the idea the other day at the manor."
Mrs. Davidson's eyes lit up, her shoulders bunching at what I'm sure she considered great gossip.
Dr. Smith lowered his voice. "My relationship with Abby ended two years ago. Why would I want her dead now?"
"Maybe she was threatening to tell your wife," Nadine said.
"My wife already knows," he said, clearly exasperated. "We've been in counseling for over a year. After that douche of an ex-husband tried to blackmail me, Abby gave him whatever he wanted in their divorce as long as he kept his mouth shut. I trusted Abby, but not him. Dale can be…disruptive. So, I told my wife just in case he ever spilled the beans. You see, I had absolutely no reason to kill her. I…I cared for Abby. I wouldn't have harmed her."
Nadine glanced at me. I nodded. He was telling the truth.
"Fine," she said. "But I still might have questions for you later, so keep yourself available."
"Wat…er," Mrs. Davidson rasped again.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Davidson." I looked around for a cup and couldn’t find one.
Nadine raised her hand. “I’ll find some water. You stay and keep an eye on the doctor."
"I'll be back," Dr. Smith said. "I have other patients to check on."
I snarled at him. He flushed then hurried out of the room.
After he left, I touched Mrs. Davidson’s warm cheek. “Do you know who did this to you?”
Her eyelids fluttered then she nodded.
“Who? It’s important.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, tried to swallow, then opened it again. “Ah. Ah." She shook her head. "Waa-ter.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Deputy Booth is getting it for you.” I looked at the door, willing Nadine to return. When she didn’t, I told Mrs. Davidson, “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”
The corridor was dark, giving the hospital an eerie essence. I whisper-yelled, “Nadine,” as I made my way down to one end before starting over to the next hall. There was a family room marked at the end of the corridor. Those places usually had coffee, water, and snacks for visitors, so I looked there next.
The door creaked as it opened, sending a shiver down my spine. The only light was the glow off a soda machine against the far wall. “Nadine?”
I sniffed the air. Coffee, cleaning chemicals, and lemons. “Nadine? Are you in here?” There was a stack of Styrofoam cups near the sink. I tried to shake the trepidation from my limbs as I got one free and turned the faucet on.
Another scent caught my attention. Sweat and body odor.
I whipped around, ready to fight. Only, I’d brought claws to a gun fight.
A hooded figure wearing a ski mask held a gun in one shaky hand and a syringe in the other, a dark blob on the floor behind her. In a menacing, low voice that I couldn’t tell if it was male or female, the assailant said, “Your friend has been injected with a mild sedative but move one step closer and I'll inject her with one hundred units of insulin. It’s your choice.”
“Are you talking about Opal?”
“No, the deputy,” the hooded figure said. It waved the gun in my direction again, and the smell of sweet citrus and sweat wafted in my direction.
I suddenly knew who was behind the
mask. It made some sense now. "Does the candy help with withdrawal?" I asked. There was only one person who could have orchestrated Jane's sudden blood sugar rollercoaster, Abby's staged suicide, and Opal's kidnapping who also had the initials A.B. and had access to the medication room. "Drug addiction is an illness, Annie."
The masked assailant blinked. "How did you…?"
The clues had all been there…the lemony aroma, the shaking hands, the agitation, and the biggest one I’d missed was the initials on the murder book. A. B. for Annie Blankenship, the activity director for Moonrise Manor.
"You must have been really desperate to go after Abby," I said. "Did she know you were the one stealing narcotics? Is that why you killed her?"
Annie stopped trying to disguise her voice. "It was an accident. I didn't want to hurt Abby, but she wouldn't listen to me. I told her I was trying to quit. You're right. Addiction is an illness. I needed help, and she refused to help me." She kept the gun trained on me but fisted the syringe. "I went to her apartment to talk to her, but she was so smug. She couldn't let it go about Mrs. Davidson. I told her it was impulsive, that I hadn't really wanted to hurt Jane, but she said I had to turn myself in or she would."
"Why Mrs. Davidson?" I asked, hoping to keep her talking long enough to figure out how to get the gun and syringe away from my helpless friend.
"She saw me take some fentanyl from the narcotics cabinet. I couldn't risk her telling anyone." Annie let out a frustrated grunt. "She just smiled at me, the old cow."
The more she talked the more confidence she gained, the more she believed her own lies.
"I want to believe you, Annie. I really do, but you took the murder weapon with you to Abby's. You took the fentanyl, the oxycodone to plant, and the insulin." I pushed my power of compulsion at her and could feel her resist. Her drug use had made her immune my ability. "You wanted Abby out of the way. You wanted her dead."
Annie stepped back over Nadine.
I stepped forward, but she put the weapon to Nadine's head. "Stop right there."
I froze in place. "You can't get away with this, Annie."
"Quit saying my name!" she shrieked.